Showing results by author "S.J. Tilly" in All Categories

I was eight when Nathan moved away. He was my best friend. My only friend. My safe space. And then he was gone. And my life turned into Hell. But I survived. I broke free and made a life for myself. And I tried to forget about the boy who grew up to be Nate Waller, the famous retired football player. I really did try to forget. But then I opened the door, while working at a client’s house, and he was there. Standing before me. My old friend. My unwitting confidant. My Nathan. Except… he doesn’t recognize me.

I'm starting to think I've been doing this for too long. The screaming fans. The constant media attention. The fat paychecks. None of it brings me the happiness I yearn for. Yet here I am. Another year. Another holiday special. Another Christmas spent alone in a hotel room. But then the lights go up. And I see her.

I should have run the other way. Paid my tab and gone back to my room. But he was there. And he was…everything. I figured, what’s the harm in letting passion rule my decisions for one night? So what if he looks like the Devil in a suit? I’d be leaving in the morning, flying home to my pleasant but predictable life. I’d never see him again. Except I do. In the last place I expected. And now everything I’ve worked so hard for is in jeopardy.

Running away from home at 17 wasn't easy. Let's face it, though, nothing before or in the ten years since has ever been easy for me. And I'm doing okay—sorta. I just need to keep scraping by, living under the radar. Staying out of people's way, off people's minds. When a man walks through my open patio door, stepping boldly into my home and my life, I should be scared, frightened, terrified. I must be more broken than I realized because I'm none of those things. I'm intrigued—and I'm wondering if the way to take control of my life is by giving in to him.

I’m so sick of watching the world spin by, of letting people think I’m plain and boring, too afraid to just be myself. Then I see him—John. He’s strength, and fury, and unapologetic. He’s everything I want. And everything I wish I was. He won’t want me, but that doesn’t matter. The sight of him is all the inspiration I need to finally shatter this glass house I’ve built around myself. Only he does want me. And when our worlds collide, details we can’t see become tangled, twisting together, ensnaring us in an invisible trap.

Maddox Lovelace. The captivating football player I met in college. The one I only knew for a week. A week that was...life-changing. Until my phone rang, and I had no choice but to go home. I left Maddox a letter, putting my feelings on paper, giving him my number, hoping he'd call. But he didn't call. He never called. He got drafted into the professional league and lived like a king while I stayed home and struggled to stay afloat.

I caught her staring at me from across the quad, eyes fixed on the football jersey stretched across my wide chest. And if I flexed my muscles, showing off the strength of a defensive tackle, it was just to see her blush. And then she did, and I couldn’t get her out of my mind. Her wide eyes. The freckles on her cheeks. I needed to know her. The girl who scampered away every time we bumped into each other—by accident and by design.

My trip to Mexico for my cousin's wedding was only supposed to be a few days of obligation and oceanside. I wasn't expecting Luke. Wasn't expecting the hot hockey player, with the smirks and the tattoos, who kept bumping into me. And I certainly wasn't expecting to spend a night on the beach, under the stars, underneath him. It was magical, but I thought it would end there. Instead, we exchanged numbers and stayed in touch. So when Luke invited me to watch him play in Vegas, I went. And it was great. Until we woke up the next morning and found the wedding certificate in my pocket.

It started with tragedy. And secrets. Hidden truths that refused to stay buried have come out to chase me. Now I’m on the run, living under a blanket of constant fear, pretending to be someone I’m not. And if I’m not really me, how am I supposed to know what’s real?

Okay, so my bad for assuming the guy I was going on a date with wasn't married. And my bad for taking him to a friend's house for dinner, only to find out my friend is also friends with his wife. Because, in fact, he is married. And she happens to be at my friend's house because her husband was "busy working." Confused? So am I. Unsurprisingly, my date's wife is super angry about finding out that her husband is a cheating asshole. Girl, I get it. Then to make matters more convoluted, there is the man sitting next to my date's wife. A man named King, who is apparently her brother.

I have a nice life—living in my hometown and owning the coffee shop I’ve worked at since I was 16. It’s comfortable on paper, but I’m tired of doing everything by myself. Tired of being in charge of every decision in my life. I want someone to lean on, someone to spend time with, sit with, hug. And I really don’t want to go to my best friend’s wedding alone. So, I signed up for a dating app and agreed to meet with the first guy that messaged me. Now here I am, at the bar. Only it’s not my date that just sat down in the chair across from me. It’s his dad.

When I was nine, I went to my first funeral. Along with accepting my father's death, I had to accept new and awful truths I wasn't prepared for. When I was nineteen, I went to my mother's funeral. We weren't close, but with her gone, I became more alone than ever before. Sure, I have a half-brother who runs The Alliance. And yeah, he's given me his protection—in the form of a bodyguard and chauffeur. But I don't have anyone that really knows me. No one to really love me. Until I meet him. The man in the airport.

There are a few things that life doesn’t prepare you for. Like what to do when a super-hot guy catches you sneaking around in his basement, or what to do when a mysterious package shows up with tickets to a hockey game (because, apparently, he’s a professional athlete). Nor how to handle it when you get to the game and realize he’s freaking famous, since half of the 20,000 people in the stands are wearing his jersey.

I fell in love with Beckett when I was 7. He broke my heart when I was 15. When I was 18, I promised myself I’d forget about him. And I did. For a dozen years. But now he’s back home. Here. In Darling Lake. And I don’t know if I should give in to the temptation swirling between us or run the other way.

I'm a dangerous man. A man who has spent the last two decades removing so many souls from this earth that it's a miracle my hands aren't permanently stained red. I'm a man who belongs in the shadows. I certainly don't belong in my pretty little neighbor's bedroom when she's not home, touching her things and inhaling her scent. I shouldn't follow her. Shouldn't watch her. No number of cookies on my doorstep will change the fact that love isn't an option for me. The only option left for me is violence.

My friends found their happily-ever-afters with a couple of sweet, doting, over-the-top, in-love athletes. They got nicknames like Kitten and Sugar. But me? I got stuck with a dickhead who riles me up on purpose and calls me Banshee. Yeah, he might have a voice made explicitly for wet dreams. And he might have a body and face carved by the gods. And he might have a level of Alpha-hole that gets me all hot and bothered. But when he presses my buttons, he presses ALL my buttons.

My friends have convinced me: no more hockey players. With a dad who is the Head Coach for the Minnesota Sleet, it seemed like an easy decision. My friends have also convinced me that the best way to boost my fragile self-esteem is through a one-night stand. A dating app. A hotel bar. A sexy-as-hell man who’s sweet, and funny...and did I mention sexy-as-hell?